Sometimes I wonder

Sometimes when I walk into a room it feels like someone was just there,
it’s like their departure echoes the room.
 
I wonder if houses ever miss their dwellers.

Sometimes when I trek across track,
I can see the weeds of an old plant,
like the arms of a child reaching out to a long lost parent.

I wonder if paths ever feel guilty for being made. 

Sometimes when I see a deflated ball,
it looks like the hope was sucked out of it.

I wonder if the air that was in the ball is enjoying its freedom.